The Bottle
by Deyna Ian Bloom
Summary: River, a normal child of Wardens, is given a small bottle by her dying father, not knowing it holds a Djinn who will not serve a mere human. When whatever killed her parents comes for them, working together is their only option.
1. Prologue

I've always had a thing for water. I would spend hours in the tub just letting the water run through my fingers. While the other children cowered in fear of thunderstorms, I watched in rapture. The feel of rain was soothing, and I could always smell when a storm was coming.

I've also always had a thing for fire. The colour of a flame was a thing of beauty. The way it moved and danced captured me, and I could get lost in the flickers.

Unbeknownst to me, my mother was a Water Warden, and my father a Fire Warden. They were tickled pink when they saw my affinity to their elements, and waited on anxious feet until I reached the age my powers should've activated at. My love of water and fire should've been significant when I hit puberty, but it wasn't.

I had no powers.

My parents were devastated, and I didn't understand what I'd done wrong. Years passed and in my mid-twenties, my parents were struck by lightning in my driveway. My mother was killed instantly, but my father managed to slip me a small glass bottle before he too slipped away.

He said, "Guard it with your life. He will come when you call. Repeat yourself by three."

Needless to say, I thought my dad was just raving in his final moments, but everyone feels the need to respect a final wish, even if it sounds psycho. I had no idea what it really contained, and frankly, I can tell why my dad didn't mention the contents to me.

I would've never opened it.


	2. Ch1: Inside the bottle

My hands shook as I tried to put the back on my earring. Preparing for my parents' funeral was harder than I thought it would be. It wasn't that I couldn't control my grief. It wasn't that picking out caskets and settling debts had been hard.

I was alone.

I had no one here with me. My parents had no siblings, my grandparents were dead. My parents had friends at their jobs, but I didn't know any of them. My house was empty.

I sat down at my vanity table, fluffing my long red hair, and glanced at my glass collection. I had various perfume bottles with interesting shapes, some cologne bottles shaped like boats and log cabins, a few glass soda bottles, and one glass Aunt Jemima syrup bottle.

A small White Diamonds perfume bottle was sitting with my collection of glass things. The bottle my father had given to me. I eyed it while I applied my lip gloss. The only thing my parents left me was a stupid expensive perfume bottle. Their house had caught fire from a lightning bolt, oddly enough at the same time they were hit with one. Nothing had survived.

My fingers closed around the bottle and I held it up to the light. "Stupid little bottle," I grumbled, while un-stoppering the lid and tossing it onto my vanity. Instantly, I felt something different. The air in the room, or the pressure in my chest, I couldn't say.

The bottle was warm, almost hot, and felt….alive? What had my father said? 'He will come when you call.' He who? Was the bottle a 'He?' Should I talk to it? I felt like a total moron.

"Umm….hello.…bottle. Err…come?"

Nothing happened.

I didn't really expect anything, of course, but I still felt disappointed. I sighed and picked up the lid, intending to pop it back in. The bottle grew so hot, it burned my hand. I yelped and dropped it onto the vanity, the bottle clinking against my jewelry box. I had the sudden impression that the bottle didn't want to be capped.

"Okay," I said outloud. "No lid. Happy now?" Again, I felt stupid for addressing a bottle. I cautiously touched a finger to the bottle and found that it was back to a comfortable warmth. Guess the bottle was happy being uncapped. I tossed the bottle into my small black purse and headed to my car.

"Get ahold of yourself, River," I whispered to myself as I started my car and left for the funeral home. "If people find you talking to a bottle at your parents' funeral, you'll be singing their eulogy in a crazy bin." Then again, I had been bringing the damn thing with me everywhere. If my father said, 'Guard it with your life,' it must be valuable. Plus, it really didn't go with my glass collection as its bubble shape was uninteresting.

I pulled my car into the funeral home's parking lot and made my way to the front door, straightening the only black dress I owned, which was also my "little black dress." I hadn't had time, or the strength, to go dress shopping during all the preparations, so all the prude old women would have to deal with it. The funeral director greeted me at the door, giving me the right amount of somber and warmth required of his job, and no extra.

He patted the shoulder of my tuxedo jacket. "How are you, Miss Tam? Are you holding up well?" I wondered if he was only being nice because I was paying for a double funeral.

"As well as can be expected," I said with a weak smile. No one wants to see your true grief. They want to see you getting over it.

It's not that I didn't love my parents. They usually made time for me, and loved me in their own way. But, except for the time they spent with me, I was not included in their lives. They never brought guests over. Sometimes they came home with bandages, or several cuts on their faces. My questions were dismissed, and I was as well. They never talked about their work. I didn't even know what they did for a living. The attention went both ways. They didn't know me either. Do you truly know someone you don't make an effort to connect with?

The answer is simple. You don't.

I excused myself and raced towards the bathroom, tears threatening to make a public appearance. The bathroom was thankfully empty, and as I gripped the edge of the fancy sink counter, my pain slammed into me. The teenager, and the adult me had always wanted her parents to finally wake up and care more. It would never happen now.

I started to throw my purse across the room in frustration, but remembered the breakable glass bottle in it at the last second. I fished it out and hugged it to my chest. They gave me something worth dying for. That meant they loved me, right?

"Why couldn't you give me real love instead of this stupid bottle?" I screamed, the bottle growing blurry with my tears. I turned it upside down and shook it. Empty. "Come out, come out, come OUT!"

"Your yelling is really going to attract attention, you know."

My scream lasted for about five seconds, and was a combination of five different things.

1. There was a man standing in front of me.

2. I was pretty sure I hadn't heard him come in.

3. He was shirtless, and wearing some sort of harem slave costume.

4. From the knee down his legs dissolved into mist.

5. This was the ladies restroom, for crying out loud!

He rolled his eyes at me when I was finished screaming, and crossed his huge beefy arms over a chest that rivaled Vin Diesel's in its yumminess. "It is a very good thing you are not my real master, you silly woman. Now, why did you steal me from Wash and Kaylee? You are not a Warden, your powers are minimal, almost non-existent. You will return me at once."

I swallowed and resisted the urge to pee my pants or hide in one of the stalls. "Wash and Kaylee are….were…. my parents. How did you know them?" I shrank further away from him, clutching the bottle to my chest to protect it. He was very tall and looked like a Native American warrior, which only served to make him the scariest thing ever.

"Were?" he said in confusion.

"You…you're not here for the funeral?" A silly question, I said to myself. No one would wear a harem costume to a funeral. Unless my parents had had really weird friends.

"Funeral? Then…they are dead. Hmm." He didn't look upset by this. "You, woman. You will break that bottle in your hand. Now." His tone was calm, but it was obvious he expected obedience, and I had no doubt he would do whatever it took, even hurt me, to get it.

"No!" I held it closer to myself. "My father gave it to me. You can't make me break it. Don't you dare ask me to!"

"I am not asking, you idiot. I am telling. Do it." He took a step closer, making me shrink even more into the wall, the counter digging into my side.

I almost whimpered in terror and had to swallow a few times before I could get words to form. "Well, I'm glad we've made the distinction. Don't TELL me to break the one thing my parents left me! It's mine!"

He changed his posture to something non-threatening, which was a relief, but his face could've melted ice. "Very well. Master." The latter word was said with so much contempt, I was surprised he didn't spit on me too.

"Umm…why did you call me that?"

"Because you are my Master, despite the fact that you are clearly useless to me. Not even the Ma'at would take you, and they take everyone with barely any powers."

That stung. "I'm not useless, you prick." He looked at me with that murder glare again. I whimpered and tried once more to find empty space between me and the wall. "What are the Ma'at?" I squeaked out.

He paused in his inspection of the room, which didn't include me in my sexy dress. "You are not aware of your power? Or lack thereof, I should say."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I know an insult when I hear one. It seems to be a trend with you, since you also haven't introduced yourself."

"I am Simon." He said nothing else, which I found odd.

"Simon," I repeated. "It's uh…nice…to meet you." I held out my hand to him, and he didn't take it, not like I expected him to. Out of nowhere, I remembered the whole mist leg thing, and peeked a look at the strange mist below his knees. "So….what are you?"

"Pardon? I am human, like you."

I rolled my eyes. "Then where'd your calves go?" I gestured and he looked down, then swore under his breath.

"I am Djinn." He gave me a look like I should now bow down and kiss his non-existent feet.

"Do what?"

He actually looked surprised. "Djinn. You know…." He searched for the right word. "A genie?"

"A….a…." I fainted.


End file.
